Why You Don't Watch The Watchman
by Freya Sacksen
Summary: With the onset of the movie, 1985 has suffered a sudden incursion of Mary-Sues. How do our heroes respond? With typical violence, of course.
1. Rorschach

**Why You Don't Watch The Watchman  
**

**Chapter One**

**Rorschach**

_12__th__ August, 1985_

_The lust, filth and depravities of this world rise up around me, like a tide of blood and horror. They drown and scream and wail, whilst around them generations of good men and women despair. The past is a tattered wreck of forgotten glory, and the damned have fallen to hell, laughing and cursing as they did. Why save the damned from damnation? Why help those who wouldn't help themselves? Let lesser men compromise to save those beyond redemption._

_Never compromise. Nev – _

A shriek sounded in a nearby alleyway. Rorschach, moving almost on instinct, tucked his diary away and edged toward the alleyway. A young girl in a school uniform huddled away from an attacker, her arms raised in defense. The attacker held a crowbar in one hand, and was about to bring it down…

"_Stop,"_

Rorschach's rasped voice echoed in a whimpering silence as he caught the assailant's wrist. Carefully, he applied pressure to the wrist until the man dropped the crowbar. The girl, letting out a pitiful whimper, stumbled to her feet and tried to dash up the fire escape.

With a roar that was half-rage, half-pain, Rorschach's captive, a tall, balaclava-clad man with broad shoulders and huge arms flung him against the wall. Rorschach's head cracked against the brick, and the man turned to run up the fire escape.

"_Ow_."

Rorschach quickly picked up the crowbar, tucked it into his trenchcoat and followed.

The ting-tang-tock of the girl's high heels on metal, her chaser's rubber soles creaking against the steps, his thick hands slamming on the hand rails and Rorschach's elevator shoes clattering against the steps mingled together in a cacophony of madness and summer stink.

Rorschach, not for the first time, remembered the smell of dog's blood and fire.

The girl let out a screech as she tripped, falling onto her hands and knees. Her hands scrabbled at the railings, her screams devolving into whimpers of fear. The criminal arrived, reached down as if to pick her up –

"_No_."

The word came out a hissed, angry rattle against his face as his hand fastened around the back of the man's neck. The sensation, Rorschach knew, was a painful one. He gave the man a hard kick in the back of the kneecaps, making him stumble and giving Rorschach enough leverage to pitch him over the fire escape and onto the ground.

Fall from ten stories up.

That had to hurt.

Nonchalantly, Rorschach took out the crowbar from his trenchcoat and, like a javelin, threw it down to impale the man in the centre of his chest. The girl flinched.

"_Hurm. City stinks a little less now_," he growled, before turning away from the girl.

"Wait!"

Rorschach paused, although he had no idea why. Turning, he took a long look at the girl.

Long, thin pale legs, masses of golden hair, huge blue eyes that threatened to swallow a delicate face...

"Thank you," she said, breathlessly. She stepped forward – her beauty only increased with nearness – and touched Rorschach's shoulder.

The only beauty Rorschach knew was his convictions, and it had been that way for many, many years.

He looked down into her blue eyes.

His body stiffened.

"_Never compromise_," he hissed angrily, before grabbing the girl by the throat. She was tiny, weighed ridiculously little.

"Wait! What - - !"

Really, throwing her against the wall of the alley was so pathetically easy, Rorschach half-expected something to come along and make her stand up.

With a shrug he settled down on the edge of the fire escape and took out his diary again.

_Never compromise. Never give in to Mary-Sues._

With a sigh, Rorschach looked out at a sky whose burned orange was devolving into inky blackness and wondered, not for the first time, if he would make it through the night.


	2. Nite Owl II

**Why You Don't Watch The Watchmen**

**Chapter Two**

**Dan Dreiberg/Nite Owl II**

With a sigh, Dan dragged his cargo into his apartment, before flinging it down the stairs to his basement with a grunt.

"Dan?" called Laurie, "What was that noise?"

"Nothing. Really…just, nothing,"

"This 'nothing' wouldn't happen to have anything to do with…_her_…would it?" Laurie's voice came out cool, calm, controlled and, to be honest, mildly terrifying.

Slowly, fearing for his life, Dan edged toward the kitchen where Laurie, looking torn between amusement, horror and annoyance stood, smirking.

The object of her attention happened to be a young girl with sparkly purple hair and eyes that started out blue, before edging into green and finally gold near the pupil. She wore blue lip gloss, skintight jeans and a top so low cut it made Laurie's old costume look like something out of a Christian production of _The Sound Of Music_.

The young girl was also tied up, gagged and covered in scratches.

Dan hesitantly un-gagged the beautiful (yet oddly clashing) girl, only for her to burst into a stream of beautiful, nonsensical gibberish at the top of her lungs.

"Like, will you please, like, get me out of this?! I mean this, like, psycho woman, she just came and, like, attacked me out of nowhere! I mean I just, like, wanted to thank you for saving me and my friend, like, yesterday, but she totally, like, just tied me to this chair and gagged me. I mean, like, are you two, like, going out? Because she's totally, like, wrong for you. I mean, I'm not, like, trying to say I'd be _perfect_, but I'd totally, like, be better than her. Besides she's, ew, old, like, thirty or something, and she's such a, like, total slut, and…"

At this, Dan swiftly re-gagged her.

"I wonder if she knows that you're in your forties," commented Laurie, amused, "And what's this about you rescuing her?"

"_I_ don't know!"

The girl started to try and gabble under the gag.

"_Shut up_!" yelled Laurie, tossing her bleached hair over her shoulder in a gesture of impatience, "_God_. What is _wrong_ with these people?"

"I have no idea,"

The two heroes regarded her for a moment.

"Say, Laurie," said Dan slowly, "Could you go fetch your gun?"

Laurie smiled, showing each, perfect, pearly tooth.

"Already have it." She handed the pistol over and, with a grim smile, Dan took the gun, cocked it…

BLAM.

The silence echoed around them, filled with wolf smiles and shark teeth.

"So, why were you out so late, anyway?" asked Laurie nonchalantly, as she started to undo the ties on the now-dead Mary-Sue's body.

"Ran into a few more Sues," said Dan with a sigh. Laurie laughed and together the two dragged the Sue by her feet into the basement, "How should we get rid of them?"

"Quick afterburner to the face should do it,"

Dan gave Laurie a smile and she blew a flirtatious kiss at him.


	3. Doctor Manhattan

**A/N: **Sorry it's taken so long to write this – a combination of being away from my computer and not being entirely certain how to do this chapter made life a tad difficult. And no, this is _not_ the complete list of chemicals in a human body. If I have made mistakes, please tell me, and I will rectify them post haste.

And an apology if this isn't very funny. I really wanted to get the way I feel Doctor Manhattan has continued after the end of the graphic novel, and, well, he's not a very funny character, either.

**Why You Don't Watch the Watchman**

**Chapter Three**

**Dr. Jon Osterman/Doctor Manhattan**

He sits in the dust of a planet yet-unborn, counting atoms into creation.

_Hydrogen…four point twenty two times ten to the power of twenty seven…Oxygen…One point six one times ten to the power of twenty seven…Carbon…eight point zero three times ten to the power of twenty six…_

Dust pools through his hands, shifting and twining, sparkling like bone diamonds in the silence of a planet that dies minute by minute,

And still, the being once known as Jon Osterman counts.

_Fluorine…eight point three times ten to the power of twenty two…Iron…four point five times ten to the power of twenty two…Zinc…two point one times ten to the power of twenty two…_

This race will be better, the part of him living through this moment thinks. No Adrian Veidts, to make the world writhe at his fingertips and think that Ozymandius might, this one time, last forever. No Rorschachs, to destroy and kill and maim and say that what they do is right. No monsters, to claim cities and lives. No wars.

No Laurie.

Briefly, the man who will never know death pauses.

The moisture of a cold glass still beads on his fingers, once upon a time.

And then he returns, siphoning this element here, parting that there, a finger here, a toe there.

Life.

And still, he thinks in numbers and expressions.

_Oxygen…sixty-five percent…Carbon…eighteen percent…Hydrogen…ten percent…Nitrogen…three percent…_

An average adult human.

Ultimately, it will fail, as all races do, in the end.

Beneath his feet, he already sees the desert of this land scraped clean and scratched into nothingness by the futility of humanity.

_Boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away…_

The counting stops.

And something happens.

Jon knows that beneath him _should_ be a human male, his Adam. His hair will be brown, his eyes green. Thin lips. A body shape no larger nor thinner than health requires. Aqulian features.

What _is_ beneath him is a young girl, beautiful and perfect, and Jon can see each molecule that makes her up. The curve of a breast, the planes of a stomach…her eyes flutter open, and they are the green of rolling hills, of forests, of jungles, of _life_. Her hair is an exquisite red color, iron oxide, curling at the ends. Her skin is mahogany.

She sits up and graces Jon with a smile that curves perfect lips into a ribbon bright bow of compassion and understanding.

"Hello," she says, her voice melodious, echoing in the silence of death and birth, "My name is Krystallienia,"

Jon stares at her for a long moment.

"You are…not what I wanted," he says, finally.

Her smile widened slightly, promising secrets with every curl of flesh.

"And…because this is my chance to start the world over anew, because this is my chance to determine how humanity will be…and because you are neither what is wanted nor needed…"

Jon waves a hand and she dissolves, each sparkling atom gleaming a strange shade of purple as it vanishes into nothingness.

The ultimate being sighs, stands up, and begins again…

…the first wind blows through the earth, carrying dust motes of urple away…

"Laurie," says Jon as he begins again.

_Hydrogen…four point twenty two times ten to the power of twenty seven…_


	4. Silk Specter II

**A/N:** Yeah, like I said, I'm sorry last chapter wasn't very funny. I'm also sorry this insultingly short chapter wasn't up for ages – I've been busy, distracted or half-asleep, which is my excuse if this has turned out cracky or with appalling grammar.

Now for a change of a pace. Because Marty-Stus are out there, too…

**Why You Don't Watch The Watchman**

**Chapter Four**

**Laurie/Silk Specter**** II**

Laurie was annoyed.

It had been a slow night on the criminal front – the closest she'd come was interrupting a fight, and that had been so pathetically easy as to be boring.

"Fucking hell," she muttered, filling her pipe with tobacco, "Jesus, eight years, a world-uniting explosion and a cowboy for a president. You'd think by now there'd be plenty of the bastards,"

Fumbling in the pockets of a leather jacket for a lighter, grumblings evolved into mutters evolved into snarls evolved into outright cursing that would make her father proud.

"Can I help?"

Laurie started. She hadn't even realized the person had come up next to her. Immediately her swearing changed from the subject of the lack of lighter to the subject of her own ability to completely lose track of the world around her.

Suspiciously she eyed the man opposite her. His hair was ebony, but in the orange streetlights it looked as if it were edged with blood-red highlights. He wore a shirt and jeans, both of which looked rumpled, as if he'd fallen asleep in them. Surprisingly, his smile, spreading across thin lips as it did, was shy.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a lighter, before offering it to Laurie.

"Thanks," she said, every muscle tensed.

"It's okay," his smile widened, "I won't hurt you,"

Laurie looked at the lighter, then at the man's perfectly smooth and shiny hair.

Smooth, shiny…hair sprayed…

"Can't say the same for me," smirked the vigilante, before flicking open the lighter and tossing it on his hair. The hair spray ignited, and he started to shriek. With a laziness that was almost insulting, Laurie kicked him in the gut, sending the lighter slipping down his back.

In no time at all, the Marty-Stu was a bonfire. Carefully, Laurie lit her cigarette on the pyre, before going to a payphone. After all, she didn't exactly want the rest of the neighborhood to catch fire just because one Marty-Stu was stupid enough to spray his hair to within an inch of its life…


	5. Ozymandius

**A/N:** I was trying to come up with an inventive way for Ozy to kill a Mary-Sue…then a reviewer reminded me of his sexuality…

**Why You Don't Watch the Watchmen**

**Chapter Five**

**Adrian Veidt/Ozymandius**

"Mister Veidt?" his secretary's voice, high and slightly grating, rang through his speaker phone, making him wince. His migraine was bad enough without having to put up with a shrill secretary.

"Yes, Harmony?" he said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

"There's a young lady here for you," a frown crinkled Adrian's perfectly sculpted forehead.

"Really?"

"Yes. Really," Adrian noticed abruptly the tense and slightly irritated tone to his secretary's voice, "She is quite…insistent,"

"Obnoxious?"

"To say the least,"

"Hmm. Give me about five minutes and then send her in,"

"Yes, Mister Veidt,"

The speakerphone cut off, just in time for Adrian to hear his secretary swear softly under her breath.

Adrian spent the next five minutes arranging some delicate and extremely crucial matters, which eventually finished with the reason for his migraine leaning against his desk.

"Mister Veidt?"

"Send her in, Harmony,"

The door opened and in slinked a beautiful woman. Her gold-tinted copper hair fell in thick waves to her shoulders and the red dress she wore was nothing short of scandalous. Her calves were encased in exquisitely polished red boots, with heels appallingly high. Inwardly Adrian winced for her podiatrist. Those boots must have been _hell_ for her arches.

Lips a seductive shade of red formed a smile with inflections so blatant as to make Adrian groan inwardly as she walked – so smoothly and so elegantly 'walk' didn't begin to cover the action – to Adrian's desk. Her eyes were a brown so deep it was almost a velvety red.

She opened her mouth to speak…

…and then noticed Adrian Veidt's _other_ guest.

He was tall, well-muscled, with blonde hair so pale it was almost white and eyes that changed from an adoring purple to a calm blue to a dangerous black as she approached.

"Who are you?" a voice that might otherwise be melodious tore from her lips in a snarl that seemed almost taboo for a face that gorgeous.

The man's eyes narrowed and, without a word, he tackled her to the ground. The Mary-Sue let out a shriek before tearing into him with nails as sharp as knives.

Adrian watched the proceedings with a boredom that edged dangerously close to apathy. On his desk were the ropes he'd use to tie up the winner and under his desk the staff he'd used to knock them out.

His speaker phone rang.

"Yes, Harmony?"

"There's another one here for you, Mister Veidt," she said in a long-suffering tone. Adrian felt a sudden rush of affection for her.

"Stall the OC for me, please,"

"May I stall her with a sharp implement?" the piercing voice came out angry, tired and malicious. Adrian smiled.

"So long as you don't stain the carpet,"

"We can always get a rug to cover it up. Besides, I already have Rug Cleaner on auto-dial,"

Adrian laughed, remembering why he hired Harmony. It was hard to get help with such a nasty streak in them these days…


	6. The Comedian

**A/N:** I seriously had no idea how to do The Comedian, probably because, while I find him intriguing as a character, I am lost with the writing of him.

Also, this is the last chapter. I'd do a chapter for the Minutemen and/or Sally Jupiter, but that would take this side of _forever._ That, and I think it's highly appropriate to end with the character that put the story into motion…

**Why You Don't Watch The Watchmen**

**Chapter Six**

**Eddie Blake/The Comedian**

The beautiful black tresses twined around the woman's face as she stood at Eddie Blake's grave. Tears streaked down porcelain cheeks, and it seemed, by the grayness of the day and the heaviness of the downpour, that the sky wept with her. She wore black lacy gloves, a black singlet with a pattern of spiderwebs on it and a lacy, frilly black skirt. Even her lips, nails and eye shadow was black. Her eyes were a deep amber that seemed too wise for her apparent age.

"Oh, Eddie," she whispered sadly, bending down to touch his gravestone, "I didn't get here in time. I'm sorry. But I'll make it up to you," she set her chin firmly, "_I'll bring you back_,"

"_No_,"

The word, hissed hatefully through cloth, startled the woman, and she looked up to see the ever-shifting mask of Rorschach's face glare down at her from the gravestone.

"R-R-R-R-Rorschach!" she stammered.

BANG.

A bullet grazed her cheek and she turned to see the Silk Specter hefting a gun about the length of her thigh. It was so massive it was amazing the woman was even able to hold it.

"Hi," she said tightly, "You know, I hate the Comedian, but I have to admire his taste in guns,"

Nite Owl stood beside her, smiling thinly. Treading silently followed Doctor Manhattan, and Ozymandius leaned, almost lazily, against the gate to the graveyard.

"Oh," said the woman dizzily, "You're not going to - - "

"Yes," said Ozymandius, a grim smile adding complex shadows to his perfect face.

"We are," said Doctor Manhattan. It was a statement of fact.

Somewhere where the others couldn't see, the Comedian lit the metaphorical cigar, laughed, and saluted his former comrades as they proceeded to tear the Mary-Sue to shreds.

"Ah, dammit," he muttered with a smile, "If only I'd been there to help,"


End file.
